


Tuesday Morning

by gwenweybourne



Series: Infinite Tuesdays [2]
Category: The Monkees (Band), The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Bullying, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Monkee adventures, OMC - Freeform, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Romance, Sequel, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 11:35:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20994152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenweybourne/pseuds/gwenweybourne
Summary: It's a long week until the next Tuesday. Can Micky make it? And when the day comes, Mike’s memories come back to haunt him.





	1. I Thought of You Today — I Wished It Was Yesterday Morning

Mike didn’t know how he was expected to sleep that night. With Micky just a few feet away. Knowing that just hours earlier, Micky had been naked in his arms. Mike had made him come twice and he couldn’t get the image out of his mind of Micky moaning his name, shuddering with pleasure at his touch. Micky’s mouth on his, his gentle hands on Mike’s body, coaxing and teasing him and bringing him to climax. Mike’s cheeks burned with the memory, but he also smiled. He couldn’t stop smiling and it was going to start drawing notice before long if he didn’t watch it.

They’d lain together until the last moment, when they heard the door open downstairs and Peter’s voice call to greet them as he entered the Pad. Micky had pressed a final hasty kiss to Mike’s lips and then slipped out of bed and tugged his trunks and his T-shirt back on and went downstairs to keep Peter occupied until Mike could get up and dressed and put himself together. They joked that most of the time Micky’s wild, curly hair looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, freshly fucked, even if he wasn’t getting any action, but this time it was sorta true.

After getting dressed, Mike looked in the mirror as he combed his hair and put his hat on, then squinted and looked more closely at himself. He had a decent-sized hickey blooming on the side of his neck. Micky!

But he couldn’t bring himself to get that annoyed about it. It was like … proof. That it had happened. It wasn’t a dream or another of the endless jerk-off fantasies about Micky that Mike’s brain had been concocting for such a long time. He tried to identify the light, giddy feeling he was experiencing. Happiness? A kind of happiness he’d never felt before, that’s for sure. It was different than the feeling of playing a good gig or writing a new song that came out the way it sounded in his head. This was an entirely different kind of happy.

But then …

“He’s gonna change his mind, y’know. He likes girlsssss. He’s always liked girls. You’ve sure bunked on the sofa enough when Micky gets lucky and brings someone home.”

“Be quiet,” Mike muttered. Because demon-Mike had appeared on his shoulder. He always looked like a villain in a cowboy flick. Dressed head to toe in black and chewing on a toothpick. He looked like Mike, but his features were contorted in a grotesque caricature. He had jet-black eyes and long black fingernails. His speciality was tamping down any good feeling Mike ever had and exaggerating any bad/anxious feelings he had. There was no angel-Mike that the young man knew of. This guy was the only one who ever showed up. He always spoke in a soft, insidious hiss.

“He felt ssssorry for you. You’re pathetic. Twenty-one years old and practically a virgin. No one wants to fuck you. No one ever will. You’re a freak.”

“S’not true!” Mike said. “I been with people. I ain’t no virgin.”

“I said _practically_. If you count those times you barely kept it up enough to get inside a girl.”

“Shut up. You just shut up, okay. You ain’t spoiling this for me. Not today.”

The demon smirked. “All right. I’ll give you this. For now. Enjoy it … while it lassssts.” And demon-Mike disappeared in a soft puff of coal-black smoke. Sometimes Mike swore he could smell it. He shook his head to clear it and made it his way downstairs. Davy had arrived home and was nosing through the groceries Peter and Micky were trying to put away.

“You done good today, Pete,” Micky commented. “Folks were feeling extra generous?”

“They were showing _Mary Poppins_,” said Peter, grinning. “I sang songs from the movie and they loved it and bugged their parents to give me more money. And the parents were happy that the kids were occupied while they waited.”

“They recognized one of their own,” Davy quipped.

Peter looked confused.

“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!” Micky said, then nudged Davy, who was still rustling around in the bags. “Hey, man, let us get this stuff put away before you start deciding to eat our cupboards bare again!”

“All right, all right,” Davy groused, stepping back. “But I’m starving! I been outside since sun-up, working me arse off all day with the horses. What have you lot been doing, huh?”

“We been up to plenty,” Mike interjected, causing the other three Monkees to look over and acknowledge his presence. “But you got a point, Davy. We’ll rustle somethin’ up for supper soon, okay?”

Davy nodded, mollified, then narrowed his eyes at Mike before busting out a great, wide grin. “Oi, Mike! You certainly have been up to somethin’, you dog! That’s some love bite you got there.”

Pete turned, surprised, looking at Mike. Micky, standing behind them, let out a silent laugh and clapped his hand over his mouth for a moment before dropping his hand and mouthing _Sorry!_ But still, he looked very amused and rather pleased with himself. Mike didn’t exactly enjoy being the center of this kind of attention, but Micky’s response warmed him.

“Never you mind, Davy,” he said, allowing a small smile. “Unlike you, I don’t kiss ’n’ tell.”

“Spoilsport,” Davy pouted, going to sulk on the sofa until food appeared.

Micky let out an exasperated sigh. “Pete, man, I know you were excited about the bread you earned today, but don’t you remember why we asked you to let us do the shopping together? Why did you get twelve cans of sardines?”

“They were on sale! Buy eleven, get the twelfth for free! For _free_, Micky!”

“Does anyone in this house even _like_ sardines?”

“I thought up a recipe for them. I think you’re really gonna dig it.”

Micky groaned. “Dig our graves, you mean.” Not for the first time he threw a _what’re we gonna do with this kid?_ glance at Mike and Mike grinned in spite of himself. Even when his bandmates did crazy things, he loved them so much. _You’re one of us. You belong with us_.

* * *

Later, after a dinner that was thankfully not sardines, Mike was sitting at the kitchen table, working on lyrics to a song, but also feeling very aware of Micky’s presence in the room and then Micky drifted by him and it happened so fast that he almost thought he imagined it, but Micky’s fingers very softly brushed over the hickey on Mike’s neck as he went to join Peter on the sofa to watch TV. He got hard almost immediately and felt a flush of happiness bloom from deep in his chest. And then there was a soft _pop_ sound only he could hear and Mike looked to his right, and there he was … angel-Mike. He was dressed in robes that used to be white, but were stained with dirt and torn in places. His wings were tattered, his face was smeared with grime, and his halo was deeply tarnished and cracked in places.

_Where the heck _you_ been?_ Mike thought.

Angel-Mike looked wryly up at him and rolled his eyes. “You don’t wanna know, man. He kept me buried for a long time, but I’m here now. Sorry I’m so late.”

Mike shrugged. _I been gettin’ by_.

“We can do better than ‘gettin’ by.’”

_We’ll see about that_.

“Fair enough, fella. I ain’t exactly been pullin’ my weight around here.” The tiny angel exhaled a long breath and stretched his cramped limbs, revealing elegant hands with filthy, broken fingernails, as if he’d just clawed his way out from being buried alive. “But don’t count me out just yet.”

* * *

Angel-Mike showed up again as Mike struggled to sleep that Tuesday night. His robes were a little cleaner, but he still looked pretty rough. He produced a beat-up guitar and began to play, albeit slightly out of tune. Mike eventually fell asleep with new songs taking root in his mind and looked forward to next Tuesday.


	2. The Longest Week Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Longest week, yet the shortest chapter! Mike wonders, yet again, how the Monkees get into the scrapes they do. Micky has a talk with his inner devil and angel.

On Wednesday, Peter accidentally traded his guitar away for a treasure map and Mike found himself keeping the gang together and alive on a nearly deserted island while being hunted by a mad Australian army officer and running into an aging movie star living in the bush. Not for the first time he wondered how they kept ending up in these kinds of situations. These kinds of wild events had never happened to him before he arrived in Malibu and moved in with the guys. He wondered if anyone else they knew in the area had these kinds of experiences. One time he’d asked Ned from the Four Martians about it.

“Well, sure,” Ned had said. “We get into some fixes now and again. Last week, Charlie misplaced the van keys and we were stranded up the coast for hours! Turns out they’d fallen into his guitar case.”

Mike frowned. “Is that it?”

“Well, okay, I guess it isn’t the most exciting story, but … oh! Paul was seein’ this chick and it turned out she had a twin sister and they were taking turns with him! Isn’t that wild? Course they both dumped him when he suggested they all go to bed together at the same time.” Ned smirked at Mike, pleased by this nugget of gossip.

Mike looked at him, brow furrowed. “So, like, you ain’t never been kidnapped by anyone?”

“Kidnapped? Jesus, Mike. Of course not.”

“Gotten roped into doing dangerous undercover work for the cops?”

Ned cracked up. “No!”

“Posed as acrobats to save a dyin’ circus? Blackmailed by gypsies? Trapped out at sea with pirates?”

Ned was shaking with laughter. “Man, you got a great imagination. You should write these stories down. If only our lives were really that interesting! A rock ’n’ roll group that gets into these wild scrapes. That would be a groovy TV show! Keep it in mind in case the band thing doesn’t work out.”

“Yeah … stories …” Mike mumbled, scratching his head.

In the end he supposed it was part of what made it so special to be part of this particular gang. It certainly kept him busy while he wrapped his head around what was going to happen next with him and Micky.

* * *

The week was taking forever as far as Micky was concerned. Even the island adventure had not helped much in the passing of time. He watched the hickey he’d given Mike start to fade and realized he wanted to put more marks on Mike’s pale, slender body. Stake his claim. _He’s mine, mine, mine_. Which made him realize that he was really into this. Did this make him gay? Micky wasn’t sure about that. He still found girls really attractive and had always loved being with them, touching them, having sex with them. He’d never really examined his feelings about boys before. It wasn’t something that had ever been presented as an option. He could appreciate male beauty. A guy would have to be blind if he looked at someone like Davy Jones and said he didn’t notice anything. Peter had the most incredible body Micky had ever seen on any guy around. He didn’t care for the muscle-y types. He liked a natural look.

He liked Mike’s body. He liked Mike’s face: his soft, full mouth and soulful hazel eyes. He liked Mike’s cock. He liked the things Mike said and the songs he sang. Micky liked Mike. Really liked him. And that was a little scary. But he knew Mike liked him, too. Probably for a long time, judging by some of the things he’d said. By how scared he was that Micky was just teasing him when he wanted to kiss. Maybe Micky just liked people and it didn’t matter one whit if they were boys or girls. Huh … now _that_ was a mind trip!

“Have to wait until Tuesday until I can kiss him again,” he grumbled to himself, hitting his tom-tom with extra savagery. “Whose dumb idea was that? Oh … right.” He’d been practicing his drums a lot more than usual — he needed the distraction when Mike was around. At least he’d be well prepared for their gig at Club Cassandra on Saturday night.

“Jump his bones!” chortled devil-Micky, popping into existence, balancing on one of Micky’s cymbals. “Do it. Boy’s so hard up he won’t turn you away. He’s got a lot of time to make up for and he can do that with you.”

Angel-Micky appeared on the hi-hat. “You should keep your word! Have you even thought about where this might be going? Mike has liked you for a really long time. You’ve known about this for just over two weeks!”

“That is true,” Micky demurred.

“Two weeks, two schmeeks!” devil-Micky scoffed, lighting two cigarettes at the same time and smoking them both. “You’re both horny as hell. Go get some. It’s there for the taking.”

“Or, you can show rare impulse control!” Angel-Micky sniffed.

Both Micky and devil-Micky cracked up laughing. “Getta loada this one!” wheezed devil-Micky. “You ever met this kid? He’s all impulse, no control. This is the best gig I’ve ever had! Easy-peasy.”

“Now waitaminute,” said Micky, his laughter petering out as he realized he was being insulted. “I can too control my impulses. Sometimes. When I really want to.”

Devil-Micky snorted. “Yeah. SURE. Whatever you say, pally.”

“I can!” Micky insisted. He looked at angel-Micky. “You think I can, don’t you?”

“Of course, my dear. I know it’s more of a … challenge for you than others.” Angel-Micky snapped his fingers and several towering piles of paper and files appeared behind him. “Though this is just a small sample of some of the paperwork I have to deal with in terms of your decision-making. Particularly when you decided to start spying on your friend … and made me smell that horrible shoe!”

“Yikes,” Micky said. “That bad, huh? I’m sorry?” He looked to devil-Micky. “What about you?”

Devil-Micky guffawed. “I _thought_ about sharpening a pencil last month. Then I took two days to recover.”

Micky grimaced. “Okay, that tears it. I can hold out. I said a week — it’s only a few more days. And I’ll think about what I’m gonna say to him. Yeah … I can do it.”

Angel-Micky clapped his hands with glee.

“Aw, shit,” said Devil-Micky, making a _whoof_ sound as a large file folder landed in his lap and he scrambled to keep it from lighting on fire from the cigarettes that fell from his mouth. “Great, now you’ve gone and done it! Now where did I put that damn pencil …” He disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

Micky pointed a drumstick at the tiny angel. “Move it, pipsqueak. I got a whole lot more practicing to do.”

Angel-Micky grinned and popped out of sight. Micky sighed and began to play again.


	3. Lying With You on a Tuesday Morning

_But I knew that you_

_With your heart beating_

_And your eyes shining_

_Would be dreaming of me_

_Lying with you_

_On a Tuesday morning_

— The Pogues

They somehow made it through the rest of the week. Micky and Mike went to bed on Monday night and neither of them could sleep. It felt almost like the night before Christmas, both of them just wanting the new day to start so they could continue to explore what they’d started a week ago.

Mike, at some point, managed to drift off, but was startled awake when he felt his covers move and suddenly Micky was crawling into bed with him, spooning up against him, his narrow little pajama-clad butt wiggling against Mike’s groin in a way that was somehow both incredibly innocent and unbelievably suggestive.

“What’re you doin’, Mick?” he whispered softly, almost afraid to touch him. Was he dreaming?

“It’s midnight,” Micky murmured sleepily. “So it’s technically Tuesday now. So it’s okay. I did it. I made it.”

Mike felt a small smile spread over his face. Happy to know that Micky was anticipating just as much as he was. “We sure did, babe.” He hesitantly slipped an arm around Micky’s waist and cuddled him close. It was clear that Micky was still very interested in sleeping, just as long as he could do it next to Mike. Mike had never met anyone who enjoyed sleeping as much as Micky did. It was practically a competitive sport for him.

He kissed the nape of Micky’s neck and let his soft curls brush against his cheek as Mike closed his eyes and suddenly everything felt pretty all right in his little world. Micky made a soft, happy sound. He smelled like warmth and sleep, even though Mike knew those things didn’t really have a smell. Mike just accepted it for what it was, as he did with many things where Micky was concerned.

* * *

The next morning Mike woke to Micky’s voice. But it wasn’t next to him, it was coming from downstairs. Mike blinked and sat up, looking at the clock on the bedside table. It wasn’t all that early, but early for Micky to be up and about.

“Don’t you think it’s time you were off into town?” asked Micky hopefully, trailing Peter around the Pad. He’d been doing this for the past ten minutes. Davy had left for work over two hours ago.

“It’s too early, Micky,” Peter said, not noticing the drummer practically stepping on his heels. “The box office won’t even be open yet. No one will start lining up for another hour, probably. It’s not a kiddie picture this time, so it probably won’t be as busy.”

Micky furrowed his brow and steepled his fingers. “But … you could … we need —” he looked wildly around “— cups! Oh, we are fresh out of cups, Peter! I don’t know what happened to them.” Micky quickly scooped up the two cups on the kitchen table and flung them out the window, where they made a _fweeee_ sound, as things sometimes did when they were thrown around the Pad. He was never sure why, who had time to think when you were throwing things? “You must go to the store and buy some more. I will give you the money! Please … to the cup store!”

“Cup store? What are you talking about?” said Peter, grinning. “We have a whole cupboard full of them, Micky. Hey, is that why it’s called a ‘cup-board.’ Why do we say it ‘cubbard’? That’s weird … but here, I’ll show you …”

“NO!” Micky shrieked, throwing himself in Peter’s way, blocking the cupboard in question. “Don’t open that!”

Peter started and stared at Micky, worried. “Why, Micky?”

“It’s … it’s … I saw a rat!” Micky improvised. “A big rat! A dirty rat! It probably stole all the cups! You should go to the exterminator before the cup store!”

Peter looked at Micky, his jaw hanging open.

Mike walked by and closed Peter’s mouth with an audible squeak. “Cut it out, Micky, there ain’t no rat and we got plenty of cups. Nothin’ to worry about.”

Now it was Micky’s turn to let his jaw hang open in a look of betrayal. Mike grinned and closed his mouth as well before opening the cupboard to show Peter everything was okay. “No rats. Lotsa cups. Think I will avail myself of one.”

Peter and Micky watched as Mike calmly poured himself a cup of coffee. “Peter will leave for the cinema when it’s the right time. Ain’t that right, Peter?”

“That’s right, Michael,” Peter said, beaming.

“So, maybe we all just simmer down and enjoy this fine morning, huh?”

Micky scowled. “I’m … going for a walk.”

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all morning, Mick. We’ll see you in a little while.”

Micky growled and stalked out of the Pad. Peter looked after him. “He’s in a weird mood today, don’t you think?”

“Micky’s just impatient for his … volleyball game. Gotta learn to wait for what’s coming to him,” Mike remarked, looking at the newspaper on the table and realized it was two months old. He shrugged and sipped his coffee, chancing a look at the clock and stifling a sigh.

* * *

But finally, finally, Peter left and Micky returned from his walk on the beach. Finding the downstairs empty of people, he grinned and ran up the spiral staircase and stepped into their room. Mike was waiting for him. He smiled a little shyly and Micky grinned even wider, stripping off his shirt as he stepped up to Mike and wrapped his arms around him, kissing him deeply and passionately.

Micky was unbelievable. Mike had never experienced this kind of thing before. His sexual experience was embarrassingly limited because he hadn’t done a whole lot with girls, though there had been enough of them who were willing. He’d had intercourse a few times, but it had been mostly unmemorable and just left him feeling like he was doing something wrong. And when he was with chicks, he was, as the guy, usually expected to take the lead. To try to “get” as far as he could and it was the girl’s job to fend him off as she saw fit. Mike had always questioned this arrangement of things, but he didn’t make the rules.

And some of those girls had gotten a little sore with him when they didn’t feel like he was trying hard enough. “What’s the problem? Don’t you like me? Do you think I’m ugly?”

Micky was no exception: he saw what he wanted and he took it. And for some crazy reason, he wanted Mike. And Mike was more than happy to be taken. He couldn’t believe someone wanted to take him in the first place. He kissed Micky back just as enthusiastically and let Micky pull at his clothes and within minutes they were both stark naked and lying on Mike’s bed, grinding up against one another while they kissed.

“Been thinking about this all week,” Micky panted, arching up against Mike. “I want you so much, Mike.”

Mike’s heart swelled at those words.

“I want you to suck me off,” Micky groaned.

And then it sank just as fast.


	4. Bring Hell Down Upon Me and I Will Say Goodbye Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Homophobic violence and slurs. Violence is not graphically depicted, but could be triggering for some.
> 
> What happened that night in Dallas. But it was so much more than that. It's never as simple as it looks.

_I want you to suck me off._

Only one other person had ever said that to Mike. His name was Joe Williams. Short for Josiah. Mike rather preferred his full name, but Joe hated it. Apart from Chuck, Joe was the only one who knew that Mike’s real first name was Robert, so he threatened to call him Bobby if Mike tried to call him Josiah, so that was that. Joe was a cornfed Texan good ol’ boy with a wicked, dirty sense of humor and sandy blond hair with a persistent cowlick. Freckles on his nose and deep blue eyes. He had a bright wide smile that made Mike weak in the knees if Joe turned it full force on him.

Mike hadn’t kept a lot of friends from his short-lived schooldays except Chuck. Chuck lived across the street from him in their little town and he was kinda little before he hit puberty. Mike was the eldest of six and he didn’t cotton well to big kids picking on little ones. Chuck was an only child with no big brothers to stand up for him, so Mike used to defend him in both the schoolyard and from neighborhood kids who tried to give him a hard time. He’d continue this pattern of behavior some years later when he would meet and befriend a small-statured Mancunian named David Jones. Davy was a good fighter, but Mike always had his back when people gave him a hard time, thinking he was an easy mark because he was short.

Mike always liked Chuck. Chuck was smart and got terrific grades and Chuck wasn’t meant for the kind of life in the podunk town where he and Mike grew up, and he got a full scholarship to a good college in Dallas. They’d kept in touch, writing letters, and Chuck had bugged Mike about moving to Dallas for better work. Meanwhile, Chuck had hit his stride and while he wasn’t the most handsome guy, he had grown up and out and was doing well at school and making the “right kind of friends.” Mike didn’t exactly know what that meant, but knowing he had a buddy in town made it easier for him to finally leave home and go to the big city, where Mike hoped to be able to play more of his music while earning some better money to help his family out. Chuck was true to his word and let Mike crash at his pad until he got settled. Chuck showed Mike around and helped him look for jobs and an affordable apartment. And he threw the occasional party and that’s when Mike met Joe and his buddies and they’d hit it off like a house on fire. But him and Joe especially. Mike had felt an attraction immediately, but like with all his other crushes, kept that to himself. Joe looked about as straight as they came, anyway. Girls loved him and he loved them right back.

Until it didn’t seem so certain anymore. Mike knew he didn’t imagine the signals Joe seemed to be giving off. Lingering looks, unnecessary touches, also in the form of roughhousing where Joe would try to pin Mike and Mike would usually let him. He remembered so many times lying on his back, trapped under Joe’s weight, his wrists held tight in Joe’s grip, the two of them staring into each other’s eyes, grinning and panting for breath and Mike would imagine kissing that grin off Joe’s face, but Joe always broke first, rolling off Mike and shoving him playfully. “Don’t be a pussy, Nesmith. Stop letting me pin you. I know you’re stronger than that.”

But Mike didn’t stop letting him, and Joe didn’t stop pinning him.

But Joe came from a good Dallas family. Oil money. All of Joe’s friends did, too. That’s when Mike started to understand what Chuck meant by “the right kind of people.” Chuck would get his degree and his new friends and contacts would get him a great job. Mike came to realize he was the “wrong kind of people.” He came from the same nowhere town as Chuck, but he also came from a nowhere family with too many kids and too little money and too few prospects. The irony being that only a few years later, Mike’s Aunt Kate would strike it rich on her ranch and then the Nesmith name meant oil money, too. But that wasn’t the case back then.

Regardless, soon Mike was hanging out with Joe and his friends almost exclusively. They didn’t seem to worry about school too much and Chuck had to buckle down to keep his scholarship.

The guys were always up to something and Mike was always invited, and they didn’t care that he had no money most of the time because it all went to rent and food and guitar strings and sending extra money home to his mother when he could swing it. They paid for beers and burgers and gas and … but there was another price tag attached to this scene. The guys often made fun of him for his hillbilly accent and malapropisms and his general lack of formal education and unworldliness. Not like any of them had seen much of anything outside of Texas, either, but they went to private schools and college and Mike only had schooling up to the tenth grade when he’d dropped out to start working to help his parents support his large family. Every group seemed to need a whipping boy and Mike was it. But he put up with it because it meant he could be around Joe. When Chuck was around he didn’t tease Mike, but he didn’t stand up for him, either. Joe sometimes participated in the teasing, but sometimes he’d punch Randy or Elmer in the arm and tell them to knock it off because they were being a horse’s ass and there was nothing more boring than that. And Mike would mentally forgive him. Again and again.

Later, Mike realized he shouldn’t have done that. That when it came down to brass tacks, Joe knew what side his bread was buttered on.

Contrary to what he’d told Micky, to this day Mike knew that he hadn’t imagined it all. That things with him and Joe Williams hadn’t been so completely one-sided and Joe wasn’t always out to trick him. Joe wasn’t smart enough to play a long con like that. There was no gain for him in it, either. But what Mike did know was that the mixed signals caused him to become a little sloppy. To let his guard down more than he usually would. Sometimes, after enough whiskey, Mike let himself flirt a little. Testing the boundaries. If Joe was alone with him, he’d usually take it in stride and sometimes flirt back a little. Or he’d talk about sex with Mike — asking him what stuff he’d done with chicks. Asking him how many times he’d gotten his dick sucked. “You got a big dick, I bet, Nesmith. Tall, skinny sumbitches like you always do. A regular trouser snake. Am I right?”

And Mike would get so hard so fast he’d get light-headed. _You wanna see for yourself?_

He swore he’d never say it out loud. Except for the one time he did. Because Joe kept asking and Mike had had a few drinks, and god help him, he said it out loud and Joe just laughed. And Mike should have laughed back. The way men did when they said serious things that couldn’t be taken seriously. Laughed and said something like, “You think I was serious, you pansy? I bet you’re _dying_ to see it.” And then they’d roughhouse for a few minutes and then drink another beer. But for some reason he couldn’t force out the sound. He was hard as a rock and he just stared at Joe, unblinking, confirming his words with his silence. Joe glanced down at Mike’s crotch, seeing his huge hard-on outlined through his old, worn Levis, and then shoved him on the shoulder before walking away. “Knock it off, man, you’re bein’ crazy. You’re drunk. Go home.”

And Mike went home. And smashed a plate in the sink, cutting a finger on his fret-hand and cursing about how that was going to slow down his guitar practice. He didn’t know that twenty-four hours later this would be the least of his worries.

* * *

There was another party the next night. There was always a party. Joe and his friends had lots of money and families with big houses and ranches with big spaces for parties. Mike showed up, a little embarrassed by what Joe had said to him the night before and prepared to keep a bit of distance between them. But they all welcomed him with open arms. “Nez, you old sumbitch! C’mere! Night’s just gettin’ started!”

Feeding him beers and countless shots of whiskey and Mike had never felt so good and so glad to have found such good friends who would treat him so nice even though he was poor white trash from Nowheresville, Texas. Maybe they saw something in him that he didn’t see.

And then Joe was on him, slinging an arm around Mike’s shoulders and Mike broke into a wide grin. Good ol’ Joe.

“Hey, man, come outside with me. I wanna show you somethin’.” Joe’s whiskey-laced breath was warm in his ear, but it made Mike shiver.

“Yeah, yeah, all right, Joe, let’s go,” Mike slurred, knocking back the rest of his beer and letting Joe lead out him out of the house.

They stumbled together, singing loud cowboy songs off-key and Joe kept hold of Mike, and Mike wrapped an arm around his waist and felt just about on top of the world. Why had he ever worried about anything where Joe was concerned?

“Where’re we goin’, Joe?” Mike asked, after they’d made it about a block away from the party. “What’re you gonna show me?”

“Oh, I got somethin’ special to show you,” Joe said with a strained grin.

There was a vacant house with overgrown grass and bushes and a large shed on the front of the property. Joe led Mike around behind the shed and pressed him up against the wall. Mike blinked and stared at Joe, who just stared back at him, with a strange little smile on his face. Mike lurched forward and tried to kiss him, but Joe held him back, gripping his shoulders.

“No,” he whispered. Then pressed down hard on Mike’s shoulders. “I want you to suck me off.”

Mike blinked again. “You … you mean it?”

Joe pushed down harder, his fingers digging painfully into Mike’s muscles. “I know you wanna. You’ve been dyin’ to, ain’t ya? All this time? So I’m gonna let ya.”

Something felt wrong, but then Joe was offering him something he’d thought about so many times when he was jerking off. Wishing to hear the words, but now they sounded strange to him. He let Joe shove him down to his knees anyway.

“Okay, but I ain’t never —”

“Bullshit,” Joe laughed and it was a hard, ugly sound compared to his usual joyful bray. “I bet you’ve sucked a hundred dicks. Bet you’re the best cocksucker this side of Dallas. Even better than Mary Lou Allenson.”

“No, that ain’t true, Joe … I ain’t never … I …”

“You want it, doncha?” Joe asked softly, sweetly. “You wanna suck my cock?”

“Well, yeah,” Mike finally admitted quietly. He reached up hesitantly for Joe’s belt buckle, but Joe slapped Mike’s hands away.

“I want you to say it, Nesmith. Tell me what you wanna do.”

“Aw, c’mon, man … this is dumb.”

“Say it. You have to say it. So I can hear you.”

“I wanna suck your cock.”

“Say please.”

Mike’s face burned with humiliation, but he’d come this far. Joe was just messing around, after all. Making Mike work for it. It was no big deal.

“I wanna suck your cock, _please_.”

Joe reached down and grabbed Mike’s jaw hard in his left hand and alarm bells clanged in Mike’s head. _Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no_. “You hear that, boys? He really, really wants it! Well, I got somethin’ for you, faggot.” And then he backhanded Mike across the face with his right hand and Mike went down like a bag of cement, tasting blood.

After that it was just a cacophony of taunting male voices and hard-booted kicks and punches and all he could do was curl up on himself and try to stay alive.

There were some drunken, testosterone-driven empty threats about other ways to “teach him a lesson,” but no one had the stomach for it. So eventually they got bored and a few spat on him, while others tossed a few more ugly epithets his way as they went back to the party.

And then he was alone. Shaking and crying and he knew he was going to be alone forever after that. Nothing was worth this.

* * *

Three days later, Mike had already made his decision. But he was still limping around his crappy apartment, bruised and sore. Even breathing hurt. He’d made up a story about getting mugged when he called Chuck to come and bring him some food and supplies because he couldn’t leave the house.

He decided it was time to stop dicking around and just go to California already. He quit his job over the phone and got yelled at and didn’t care. There was nothing left for him in Dallas. He would die if he stayed in Dallas.

It was mid-afternoon when there was a knock on his door. Mike wasn’t expecting anyone and therefore did not answer. He did not move or make a sound. The curtains were drawn so no one could look inside.

And then, a voice. “Mike … Mike … I know you’re in there. Lemme in. C’mon. I swear, I just wanna talk for a sec.”

_Joe_.

Mike felt a full-body shudder and resisted the urge to curl up in a ball. He stayed very still.

“Mike … aw, c’mon, man, don’t do this. Don’t make me talk through the door … well, shit, I guess I don’t blame you. Look … Chuck gave me your address. He told me you got … mugged … and I said I wanted to check on you. I know you never wanted me to know where you live cuz you were ashamed. I didn’t care about that, man. I never did. I just … y’know … anyway.”

Mike swallowed around a lump in his throat.

Joe sighed. “All right. Mike … I’m sorry, man. What happened … I … told some of the guys about what you said to me the night before … it happened. I didn’t mean to, but it just came out and they were … well, you know what they’re like. They were pissed off. They wouldn’t let it go. And I … I’m not like you, man. I have responsibilities. I have to … go along to get along. You understand?”

No, Mike didn’t understand. Didn’t understand why Joe had to sucker-punch him and take him down so he didn’t even have a chance to fight back. Couldn’t even get a single punch in. But he knew why. He was skinny, but taller and wiry and meaner than the rest of them. They grew up soft and rich and Mike grew up hard and poor. He knew how to fight. He’d been fighting all his life. He'd had no chance with six against one, but he could have at least made a showing for himself. None of them had the balls to take him one on one.

Mike painfully rolled off the couch and limped to the door. He had no intention of opening it, but he wanted to hear what Joe had to say for himself. He sat down awkwardly with a thump against the door he was sure that Joe heard.

“Mike …” Joe murmured, and it was the first time Mike had ever heard any kind of softer emotion in his voice. And he could tell that Joe was sitting with his back against the door. Only a few solid inches of wood separated them from leaning back against each other. “Mike, I wouldn’t’ve let ’em … do anything to you. You’re tough — I knew you could take a lickin’. I wouldn’t have let them do anything else to you. Not like that.”

Mike didn’t believe him, and Joe didn’t sound like he believed it, either. If they had really decided to cross that line and rape Mike, Joe would’ve stood in line and taken his turn just like the others. Gone along to get along. Just a good ol’ boy. Of course, the irony being that Mike would’ve given himself freely to Joe if only he’d only just asked.

He finally spoke, his voice husky and fierce.“Y’all woulda needed to be prepared to kill me if you tried somethin’ like that. You know it’s true.”

There was a long pause. “Yeah, I know,” whispered Joe. He continued, his voice pained, “Mike, man … I’m sure you’ve already figured this out, but you need to get outta here. This won’t blow over. You … ain’t safe here. You get me? You need to go.”

Mike didn’t even notice the tears streaming down his bruised face. “Yeah, I know … s’long, Josiah,” he croaked.

There was a long pause. “S’long, Bobby.” And there were fading footsteps and Joe was gone.

_I’m not like you_. Mike chewed angrily on that for a long, long time. Like what? Well, he’d go to California and make something of himself. No matter what it took.

About a year or so after Mike had settled in Malibu and formed the Monkees, he got a letter from Chuck telling him that Joe, Randy, Elmer, and some of those other guys from that night all had voluntarily enlisted together and shipped out to Vietnam after completing basic training. No news beyond that. Mike didn’t think of it often, but now and again he wondered if the guys who nearly killed him were being killed in the jungle. He didn’t wish that fate on anyone, no matter what, but it struck him as very ironic. Especially since they came from the kinds of families who could have likely kept them out of the draft, but they signed up on their own. Because they did what was expected of them. Be a good American. Fight for democracy. Show those Commies who’s boss. Go along to get along.

Meanwhile, Mike kept taking his chances. In some ways he came to understand a little. In his own way, he was going along to get along. Every night sleeping four feet away from the guy he was crazy about, and giving himself one opportunity a week to jerk off about it. It maybe wasn’t the best way to live, but he didn’t know how else to get by. He kept himself hidden and safe and he got to play his music and he got to have friends. The best friends he’d ever had. He got to live with them and play with them and take care of them. It was more than he ever thought he deserved. And the fact that he was now being offered so much more was almost beyond his comprehension. It was wonderful and terrifying at the same time.


	5. He's Not Like the Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike's memories won't get the best of him. And Micky has some ideas and plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some super-cute to make up for the darkness of last chapter!

Mike relived it all in a matter of seconds. But his response to Micky’s request was delayed enough that the other boy became concerned. “You okay, Mike?” he asked softly, touching Mike’s cheek. “I’m sorry — you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to or aren’t ready.”

Mike shook his head. “No … no … it ain’t like that …” his stammering was cut off as Micky kissed him tenderly and Mike remembered how he’d just wanted a kiss from Joe and instead was forced to his knees in the dewy grass. He remembered the feeling of the denim growing cold and clammy around his knees and shins. He’d just wanted a kiss.

But now he was naked. Inside his house, safe in a comfortable bed. Being kissed so sweetly by a boy who Mike knew cared about him. Who didn’t want to hurt him. He liked Mike and wanted to be with him and wanted to put his cock in Mike’s mouth and Mike was glad that Joe hadn’t been the first one after all.

“I wanna. Suck you off. I really do,” Mike murmured against Micky’s lips. “I ain’t never done it before, though, so I might not be any good.” His cheeks pinked with embarrassment.

Micky grinned. “Then you can practice on me. As much as you like. Night or day. I’m always available!”

Mike laughed, then kissed Micky’s mouth and his neck and his throat. He kissed his way down the length of Micky’s body, still amazed he was allowed to do this. He loved the soft noises Micky made as Mike licked and kissed him. Tasting him, breathing him in. He was so beautiful and his body seemed so sensitive and responsive to being touched and tasted and stroked and loved. It just made Mike want more. More of every damn thing.

And then he was down between Micky’s legs, admiring his hard-on. He could smell Micky’s arousal and it turned him on more than he thought possible. Knowing that he was causing Micky to react this way.

He gently fondled Micky’s balls in his hand. His tongue darted out to taste the precum glistening on the head of Micky’s erection. Micky shivered.

After a few more experimental licks, Mike closed his mouth around the head of Micky’s cock and sucked, laving his tongue over the smooth, silky skin. Micky moaned and Mike felt another rush of arousal flood his senses as he moved down, letting Micky fill his mouth and he’d never been so sure of what he’d wanted before. And what Micky was giving to him. He wouldn’t be humiliated and hurt this time.

He began to suck and slowly move up and down the length of Micky’s erection. Micky moaned louder, “Oh, Mike … yes. It feels so good. So good, baby.”

Mike groaned softly in response and glanced up to see Micky watching him, his face showing a mix of awe and bliss.

_Cocksucker_.

A common taunt in the schoolyard and on the street, and thrown around with abandon between men wanting to mock other men. Though most times it was just a catchall insult or a playful jibe. It was all about the tone. But generally it was an ugly word used for ugly purposes.

And now Mike truly couldn’t understand that. When sucking Micky’s cock not only brought Micky so much pleasure, but so much pleasure to Mike as well. He loved the feel and taste of Micky in his mouth. And as he got used to the sensation he started trying some different things with his tongue and lips. He hadn’t received a lot of head in the past, but knew enough to know what he liked. Though it was usually mixed in with shame because he’d usually had to close his eyes and picture someone other than the girl who was doing him the honors in order to get off. 

He sucked harder and tried to take all of Micky in, but it made him gag a little, so he eased off, but just enough so his mouth was still full of Micky’s cock and it felt so good. And Micky was beginning to writhe and Mike had to hold his hips down to keep them from thrusting his cock into his throat. But he knew he was doing it right as Micky’s cock leaked precome into his mouth and Micky’s moans turned into soft cries. He felt Micky’s fingers push through his hair and Micky was keening his name and warning Mike that he was about to come.

Mike had already made his decision about that. He’d gone this far; he was sticking it out to the end. And then Micky gasped and let out a deep, satisfied groan as he came and Mike startled at the first bitter taste of semen on his tongue, but he swallowed and sucked and swallowed until there was no more to take and he still kept Micky in his mouth, suckling gently until he felt him going soft and even then he felt a sense of regret as he finally released him, pressing a soft kiss just above the dark thatch of hair on his groin. Micky’s entire body had gone limp and he threw crossed arms over his eyes, chest heaving, a thin sheen of perspiration glistening on his body.

Feeling bolder now, Mike licked a long stripe up his torso, tasting the salt of his sweat and breathing in his scent. He smelled like sex and satisfaction. And Mike knew it was all because of him and he felt good. He felt proud. He felt more like a man than ever before and didn’t understand why being a “cocksucker” meant being less than that.

Finally, Micky let his arms drop as Mike shifted back up next to him. He looked at Mike, awestruck. “Mike … I believe you when you say you never did that before … but holy shit.”

Mike gave a smile that was almost a smirk. “I think I did all right.”

Micky let out a bark of laughter. “All right? Yeah, and the Mona Lisa is an all right kinda painting. That was the Mona Lisa of blowjobs.”

Mike blushed and grinned. Micky shook his head and kissed him, licking into his mouth, not caring about what had just been in Mike’s mouth one bit and that made him adore Micky even more.

And then Micky was spitting into his hand and wrapping it around Mike’s erection and Mike groaned.

“I wanna suck you off, too,” Micky murmured as he began to stroke Mike. “I will. I swear. But you just blew my mind and I can still barely think. But I want to make you come. Right now. You’re incredible.”

“Yes … please …” Mike moaned as Micky stroked him hard and fast. And then Micky’s mouth was on his neck and his ear and nipping at his jaw and his breath was hot and sweet and he said wonderful, filthy things to Mike that he couldn’t even conceive of sweet, sunny Micky ever saying, but they sounded simply fantastic and it didn’t take long before Mike climaxed, groaning Micky’s name over and over again.

Panting, they lay on their backs, sated for the moment.

“Man, we aren’t gonna keep up this ‘only on Tuesday’ thing are we?” said Micky. “I was going crazy, Mike. I gotta … I wanna be with you.”

“It was your idea in the first place,” said Mike. “But what do you mean you wanna ‘be with me’?”

“I want us to be together?” Micky said, a little confused.

“Like … a couple?”

“Well … yeah. I think?”

Mike turned to Micky. “You know we can’t just go around holding hands in public like boyfriends and girlfriends do, right?”

“I know that,” said Micky, furrowing his brow and turning to face Mike. “I just mean … I don’t wanna just fool around once a week. I wanna know I can be in your bed with you if I feel like it. Or you can be in mine. Even if it’s just to sleep. I want to be close to you, Mike. I hope that doesn’t sound too cornball …” he trailed off, his cheeks pinking.

Mike smiled and touched Micky’s face gently. “You are … I ain’t never met anyone like you before, Micky. Don’t reckon I ever will again.”

“Is that a … good thing?” Micky said hesitantly.

“Means I’m a real lucky guy. I can’t imagine there being another one of you out there and I managed to get myself into the part of this huge world where I get to see you every single day.” Mike kissed Micky softly, but then his expression went more serious. “Micky … I’ve … liked you for a real long time. Longer than I wanna admit. I never thought anything could come of it, so I just kept it to myself. Just being your friend and your roommate and bandmate felt like it could be enough. But I’ve been feelin’ this way a long time. But it’s all still real new for you.”

“But I like you, too,” said Micky softly. “I really do, Mike.”

“I know, Mick. But just a few weeks ago you were head over heels for Debbie Crawford.”

“That’s not the same!” Micky argued. “Not even a little. I barely knew her. I just thought she was real foxy. I know you, Mike. I mean … I know you better than I’ve known any girl I’ve dated. I want to know you better. But I’ve never felt about a girl the way I feel about you. About this.”

“That’s real nice to hear, Micky. I can’t tell ya how nice that is. I just … you really like girls, too.”

“So? Can’t you like both? I was thinking about that. I think maybe I just like … people. It could be a girl or a boy. It’s the person I like. I just … didn’t know that was allowed.”

“Well, it ain’t really allowed, though, right?” said Mike softly. “Otherwise you’d see all kinds of people doin’ it. Bein’ that way.” _And not getting nearly killed for it_.

Micky saw the shadow pass over Mike’s expression and knew what he was thinking about. “Mike,” he said softly. “Mike … would you like to go on a date with me?”

“Do I wanna … what? Are you kidding me?”

Micky shrugged, running his fingers lightly over Mike’s arm, raising goosebumps on the older boy’s skin. “It’s what you do when you like someone and are trying to figure out if you wanna go steady or not. You go on dates and kiss and fool around and figure it out.”

“We can’t do that, Micky. Are you crazy —”

Micky chuckled. “I’m not talkin’ white tablecloths and candles and junk like that. Heck, who has the money for that, anyway? I … just wanna take you to the pictures. That’s something fellas do together all the time. Nothing soppy — um, Pete told me that _Fantastic Voyage_ will be coming to our cinema next week. It looks really groovy.” Micky’s eyes lit up and his words started to come faster. “So, there’s this scientist, right? And he’s doing this real important work on how to shrink down stuff by individual atoms! But these Russians try to kill him but he doesn’t die but he’s got a blood clot in his brain and so they put these people into a submarine and shrink it down to the size of a microbe. A microbe, Mike! You know how small that is?”

“Real small?” Mike said, grinning, enjoying watching Micky get so excited.

“So small they can shoot it into the scientist’s _blood _and they have one hour to fix the blood clot and save his life before they revert back to regular size!” Micky gasped. “Can you imagine — a entire submarine coming back to normal size … while inside a human brain? Ka-blooey!”

Mike grinned and kissed Micky on the cheek. “All right, you talked me into it. You can take me to the pictures and maybe we’ll see a guy go ka-blooey.”

“Hurray!” said Micky, beaming, then kissing Mike on the lips.

Mike raised an eyebrow. “You got money to take me to the pictures, Micky?”

Micky looked affronted. “Of course I do! I asked you out, so this is my treat.”

“Is it the money you keep in that stinky ol’ shoe under the sofa?”

Micky’s jaw dropped. “You stay away from my shoe!”

“Gladly!” Mike made a _bleah_ face, sticking his tongue out. “Just … maybe let it air out a bit before we go out.”

Micky rolled his eyes. But then Mike looked at him shyly. “Hey, Mick?”

“Yeah?”

“Ain’t no one ever asked me out on a date before.”

Micky shrugged and blushed a little. “I never asked a boy out on a date before. So … more new stuff.” Then a devilish look came over his face. “Speaking of new stuff …” He slid down on the bed and before Mike knew what was happening, his cock was in Micky’s mouth.

“Jesus … Micky!” he exclaimed. “Are you sure … oh … you’re sure … you’re real sure …”

He couldn’t believe it. Even when he felt Micky’s curls tickling his thighs and he raised himself up to watch Micky’s head bobbing on his cock. It was a little clumsy, but he made up for it in enthusiasm. _Wherever did this boy come from?_ Mike wondered, not for the first time. _And how did I manage to get his attention?_


End file.
